Cold
by Magic Words
Summary: It's the third anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. Ginny is cold and tired of her mother's tears. Drabble.


**A/N: **my first Harry Potter piece in a while. We'll see how it goes, neh? I didn't put this under angst because I don't think it's angsty enough. I suck at angst.

Anyway, let me know how you feel, review, all that nonsense, and hey, give me suggestions for more stuff. c:

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><p>It was the third anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. Appropriately, it was cold. It was cold and overcast, and the threat of rain hung oppressively overhead. The chill's icy breath crept all throughout the Burrow, and nobody in the Weasley house felt like doing much of anything. Ginny sat in her brothers' old room and stared, unseeingly, at the old, rotting wooden crates of fireworks. It smelled like char and explosives, mixed with the sickly sweet odor of melted candy. She could hear the distant sniffles of her mother from downstairs. She sat in George's bed and picked absently on the frayed navy quilt. She couldn't touch Fred's. It hadn't been made from when he slept in it last.<p>

People in the wizarding world were celebrating. The end of an era, the downfall of the dark arts. But people like the Weasleys - those who lost someone - they weren't celebrating. They were mourning on this day, and likely every day after that.

Molly's boys had come home to see her before getting on with their lives - trying to move on. It overwhelmed her, but she got to see her young, babbling grandchildren, and it distracted her, at least for a while. Then George Apparated in, and she broke down. They cried the longest, just holding each other. It was at that point that Ginny decided she needed to leave. She was tired of hearing the distinct loud crack of Apparition and not seeing the familiar tumble of black hair and ancient green eyes. Harry was every bit a son to Molly as Fred and Ron and Percy - he should be here. With the memory of death clinging around her, she needed to remember that at least _he_ was very much alive.

_Don't be selfish_, her inner child berated_, you know he takes this day the hardest._

Ginny pulled on one of the sweat shirts she'd stolen from Harry and grabbed a fistful of Floo Powder.

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><p>She tumbled out of the fireplace coughing, onto the rich green oriental rug. Harry still hadn't bothered to redecorate. He probably wouldn't, until he found a flat for himself, or she and Hermione did the job for him. She didn't realize she was actually crying until she saw three tears fall in succession and sink into the dusty rug beneath her.<p>

Ginny picked herself up and looked round. She was in the kitchen. It at least wasn't too dusty, which meant either Harry or Kreacher had been feeding him. She walked into the main hall. His Firebolt stood propped against the wall, and his emerald cloak was hanging on a peg near the door. "Harry?" she called. "It's me, Gin…" she trailed off and walked up the stairs.

Poking her head into Sirius' childhood room, smiling fondly at the old Gryffindor pennants, she found Teddy's bed, neatly made, with a stuffed toy wolf laying on the pillow, and all his toys in a chest under the window. He hadn't been here today. Andromeda probably kept him.

So she moved onto Harry's room, which was not as tidy as Teddy's. "Harry?" she asked again, and was met with silence. Ginny sighed and rubbed at the tears on her cheeks. She stepped into his room and picked his scarf off the ground, the navy and emerald striped one that she had knit for him last Christmas. She loved the way it brought out the green in his eyes. It smelled like him, she decided, like broom polish and candle smoke, and clean cotton and that silly Muggle shaving cream he uses. It smelled like warmth, but she was still so cold. Ginny choked back tears and moved to his bed. She crawled in between the scarlet and spice brown sheets, and clutching his scarf to her chest, surrounded by Harry's scent, she fell asleep.

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><p>The sensation of something slipping from her hands woke her, and with a start, Ginny looked up to see Harry leaning over her, holding his scarf and looking concerned.<p>

"Are you okay?" he asked. She scooted over to make room for him, and he sat, brushing a strand of hair from her face as she pushed herself to sit up. She shrugged.

"It's just… hard. At home. You know, with today, and…" Ginny broke off and looked down at the end of the scarf she still held. Harry hummed and took her in his arms. "And you never showed up so I got mad and worried, and -" her voice cracked and bubbled with tears, and Harry lay down with her, and she followed without resistance. "Because you _always_come, you know? I just got… I just got scared, and I don't know why, because nothing's ever wrong anymore," she whispered, tears falling silently. Harry said nothing and just held her, stroking the tangles from her wild hair, and his peace calmed her and made everything she just said sound very stupid to her ears. "Where were you?"

He cleared his throat before he responded, but his voice sounded weak. "I took Teddy to the zoo. All the commotion in our world… he doesn't need that yet." Ginny nodded into his chest.

"You should have told me," she scolded weakly. Harry smiled into her hair.

"I should have."

"S'okay. You're here."

"I am."

Ginny dried her tears on Harry's t-shirt and fell asleep against the steady tattoo of his heart, a reminder that he was still alive. So she finally had something to celebrate, and she finally didn't feel so cold.


End file.
